30. SCARLET
"Wow!"
Gigi smiles at me from the driver's seat, "Right?"
"I love this car." Gigi revs the engine, and we rush down the long driveway at over a hundred miles an hour. "Want to drive it?"
Normally, I wouldn't dare—Gigi intimated that the SUV cost nearly half a million dollars. Half a million dollars! I still can't wrap my head around it—but new me? "I'd love to."
She stops the car by the gate, waves at the guards, and we switch seats. I might have begun to morph into a new version of me, but I haven't shaken old Scarlet off completely yet, so I drive back to the mansion at a normal speed—thirty-five, forty.
Gigi laughs, "How old are you? Eighty? Make it fly!"
For a second, I turn my head to look at her. She's serious.
"Come on, Scar. Bawk, bawk, brrraawk," Gigi mocks.
Fine.
I hit the gas, and the Mercedes lifts off, just like she dared me. "Wow!"
It's a rush—freeing and intoxicating, like breaking free from chains I never realized I was wearing. I laugh. The mansion comes back into view, and I hit the brakes, fishtailing us.
Gigi slaps my arm, also laughing. "Now that was driving."
My heart still beats a hundred miles an hour, elation rushes through my veins, and for the fifth or sixth time in less than an hour, all I can say is, "Wow!"
"What color do you want?"
Thinking she's joking, I say, "Black."
"Noted." She winks at me.
She can't be serious, can she? "Uhm, Gigi, we're just joking, right?"
"Right," she agrees with a mischievous smile that makes sweat break out all over my back and a wink that sends a trembling premonition through my belly.
Her phone beeps. She pulls it out, and her entire face lights up as she quickly replies.
"Boyfriend?" I wager.
Startled, she looks up as if she forgot about me. Her face flushes endearingly. "Your secret is safe with me," I assure her, taking another guess that maybe Antonio doesn't like his little sister dating, being Italian and mafia and all.
"If Antonio finds out, he'll kill him," Gigi says.
Her expression says it all. She's not joking.
I swallow. So far, this whole mafia thing has been fun– besides the whole kidnapping and being tortured part—I love rediscovering me, but seeing Gigi scared brings it home what world I'm all too willing to step into.
Shooting a gun, talking revenge, feeling relieved that the men who hurt me are dead, that's nothing compared to seeing the naked fear in Gigi's eyes. Fuck!
"Oh, Gigi." I don't know what to say.
"I haven't told anyone." She gnaws on her lower lip. "Promise you won't say a word."
"I promise," I nod, crossing my heart, wondering what the hell I'm getting myself into. If Gigi is scared of Antonio… his little sister, the one he just bought a half-million-dollar car for, then I should probably be trembling in my bones.
The strange thing is, I'm not.
I listen to my intuition, really listen, and there is nothing in me that says that Antonio would hurt Gigi, physically or mentally, which killing her boyfriend would most assuredly do. I saw how the two interacted; his love for her was obvious.
"Have you tried talking to him?" We both know I mean Antonio.
"Vito keeps saying—" She throws her hands over her mouth, looking mortified.
Vito? As in Antonio's second-in-command? We haven't been formally introduced, but I know who he is.
I take Gigi's hands. "We don't know each other that well, but I swear to you, Gigi, I won't say a word."
She squeezes my hand back. Something like relief floods her features. "I believe you. It's actually kind of nice, talking to someone…."
"You can tell me anything," I press her hand again.
"Well, since the cat's out of the bag… oh, Scar, I love him sooo much!" I can see it, too. Her eyes beam so brightly, I can almost see cartoon hearts swimming in them.
"So what does Vito say?"
"He says we should talk to Toni."
"But you're scared?"
Gigi nods. "If Toni doesn’t like it…" She shakes her head. "It's such a risk."
"Okay." I nod; I can understand that. "Have you talked to Toni at all about having a boyfriend?"
Again, she shakes her head.
"Maybe you should try that first?" I suggest. "Just in a very general way."
She tilts her head and looks thoughtful, as if that idea had never occurred. "You know what? I think I will."
I give her a moment to consider the possibilities.
"Toni is not like Dad. Dad was very old-fashioned. He would have married me off for an alliance or some medieval shit like that…" she drifts off, and I give her time for a whole different reason.
All the while, my own mind churns. Antonio is good at masking his feelings.
So good, that I haven't given him losing his dad six months ago much thought.
Not only that, but he took over a mafia empire at the same time.
I mean, I'm sure he was trained to do so, but still. Losing his father like that…
I've seen him furious about Carlos's men hurting me.
How would he have reacted to the news that his father had been killed by one of his partners?
I've seen enough of his world to know that a crime like that can only be avenged by blood.
But Antonio hasn't killed Carlos. He's trying to get him convicted for another crime— not his dad’s killing…
earlier, he mentioned his boss didn't want him to retaliate.
At the time, I assumed that having Carlos go to prison would be enough.
That was pretty na?ve, I realize now. No, Antonio would never be satisfied with Carlos being simply locked up.
I try to imagine how I would feel if my dad had been killed. It's completely impossible for me to do so. Hard does not even scratch the surface of my true emotions, but I'm pretty sure I would want to see whoever did that to my dad bleed.
A new side of Antonio opens up to me. He's patient, deliberate, and controlled.
"I think you're right," Gigi's voice rips me back into the present.
It takes me a second to realize what I'm right about.
Ah, Antonio not being like his dad. "I will talk to him.
In a very, very general way. Thank you." She leans over the center console and hugs me.
"I'm so glad you're going to be my sister. "
Wait? What? How the hell does she know? Has Antonio said anything to her about me?
"Wait, what?"
She smirks conspiratorially. "One," she holds up a finger, "my brother has never brought a woman here.
“Two," a second finger, “I've never seen him look at a woman the way he looks at you.” Another finger follows, and as with the first two, my heart picks up speed, and butterflies multiply in my stomach.
“Three," she continues with a wide grin, "he actually listens to you. "
I blink. "He listens to plenty of people."
Gigi scoffs. "No, he doesn’t. He tolerates people. He commands them. But you? You say something, and he stops and thinks. That’s not normal, Scar."
I open my mouth to argue, but she lifts a fourth finger. "Four," she concludes, her smirk growing smug, "he sent me to bring you stuff."
I frown. "And?"
Gigi lets out a dramatic sigh, shaking her head.
"Scar, my brother doesn’t involve me in his personal shit.
Ever. If a woman needed clothes, he’d have someone else deal with it—or more likely, he’d send her ass home.
But you?" She tilts her head, studying me like she’s already solved the puzzle.
"He called me. Had me pick things out for you. That means he cares."
My stomach flips, and my heart picks up speed. I open my mouth, but nothing comes out.
Gigi grins and finishes in a singsong voice. "Face it, Scar. My brother is already yours. So, we'll be sisters."